Happily-Ever-After-Until-You-Die
by Lady of Something
Summary: (A continuation of The Lonely Swing, Lonely No More - AKA The bits in-between) Harry has found a new home in the TARDIS and the Doctor has found a new... friend. They have many more things left to find and learn but will one of them be love? (Eventual Doctor/Harry slash. T for abuse mentions. If you haven't read TLS, LNM, then you will have no idea what's going on. Enjoy!)
1. Prologue - Deal With It

**Happily-Ever-After-Until-You-Die**

A continuation of the Lonely Swing, Lonely No More.

**oOo**

_I got sooo many reviews asking for a continuation that I decided that, yeah, I probably should write one. You all love me._

_Thank you to: AJ Skye, mangofeeesh, DooweeBipBamLookAtThisLamb, Guest and Guest, all of which asked for a continuation._

_Thanks to Slightly Disturbed Cookie Girl, mangofeeesh, DooweeBipBamLookAtThisLamb and Guest for providing feedback and preferences._

_The decisions are as such: 1: Yes (sorry Guest), 2: Yes and caught up in a case (I'm sort-of sad now because I wanted them to stay _D:_) 3: Yes but not word-for-word, not that I would and the general feelings towards a kind-of montage layout are non-existent. So you don't care as long as it's good? Nice to hear._

**xXx**

Do not own either Doctor Who nor Harry Potter

**xXx**

**Day One.**

When Harry awoke, he was momentarily drowned in panic. Where was he? What had happened? Had he been taken? He jolted up in bed, but was met a cool hand on his chest, pushing him gently but firmly back into the soft bed. It was then that Harry remembered the Doctor.

He blushed and turned around to face the pillow with a groan. Had the Doctor been watching him sleep? What had he done? Had he had nightmares? Harry's mind was filled with questions, all begging to be answered. He heard a chuckle from above his head and decided that turning around was not one of the things he wanted to do just yet.

A weight vanished from the end of the bed and footsteps headed toward the door, before there was a soft click. Harry decided to chance looking. The room was empty of human, or indeed alien, life. He breathed a sigh of relief. He did not want to have to go through that again. Out of reflex, he crawled to the end of the bed and reached over the side for his trunk. Which was, surprisingly, there.

He opened it and shifted his hand blindly through the objects inside, searching for the leather-bound book given to him all the way back in first year. He gave a short cry of victory upon location it, and pulled it out awkwardly before flopping back on the bed and rolling over to look at the images.

Pausing briefly on the images of his parents, Harry flicked through to the halfway mark, where Hermione (his throat closed up at the name) had added more sheets to place photographs on. There was one of the three of them: Harry smiling, happy, Ron grinning, healthy and sane, and Hermione was there – her face bright and tanned and she was so alive. Harry hastily turned the page, dashing his hand across his eyes. But on the next page was Cedric, grinning as he chased the camera. The camera moved back, Cedric following, before it fell over, Cedric falling on top of Harry, who had been the photographer. It paused on his smiling face and words scrawled across the image, in Cedric's neat print;

'I love you.'

Harry cried himself to sleep, haunted by memories of his friends and love.

**xXx**

_Ha ha ha ha haaa! Teaser _(XP)_ Y'all liking so far? Any complaints, beside the fact that I just gave you the shortest chapter in existence? The next will be up in about half an hour or so, don't stress._

_T-t (fn),  
LoS _:D


	2. Lost in Nightmares

Yay, Chapter one! Don't own, BTW. But thanks for the compliment :D

**xXx**

**Day Two.**

The next day was a bit more successful. Harry, upon awakening to find that his cheek was stuck to the page, actually managed to get dressed and outside the room. But then he found himself lost, wandering the halls of the space-time-ship. He didn't have his wand, and didn't know if he was even able to do magic, anyway. Did the trace still work in the time vortex? Anyway, back to wandering the halls.

First he found himself going down a futuristic style hallway done in oranges and blues, and altogether seeming very cheerful. There was a room labelled 'Ponds', another room with a gold plate stating 'Do Not Enter' and a bathroom with a spa.

A few turns along, he found himself in a more coral-looking one that had a red door labelled 'Donna's room: No Space-men Allowed', a white door with a simple 'Martha' on it in blue letters and a wooden door with a beautiful rose carved into it, the etchings revealing a layer of pink that seemed to flow along the flower like a stream.

The next few hallways he avoided. They were too white and reminded him of the muggle hospital he'd been sent to when he was ill; he'd been forgotten there, and had caught pneumonia from one of the other patients. It hadn't been a very fun experience.

After seemingly millions of rooms and what was hours from Harry's point of view, he arrived in the kitchen. He had breakfast, then walked out to find himself... in his room. Cursing sentient buildings, he went to sleep.

**xXx**

**oOo**

**xXx**

**Day Three.**

"Harry?" Hermione asked him again, fear colouring her voice ever-so-slightly.

"What?" he snarled, irritated. Sirius had to be here, he had to, otherwise he had led his friends into danger again for nothing...

"I... I don't think Sirius is here."

Blackness swirled around him, taking him further, deeper into the realms of his nightmares, where he could never escape. The Death Eater she had struck dumb slashed his wand through the air, sending a purple flame through Hermione's chest. She gave a soft 'oh' as if in surprise, and crumpled to the ground, her eyes still staring into the nothingness.

Harry froze, unable to move. Neville began crawling over to the bushy-haired brunette and his nose and wand alike were shattered by the Death Eater's kick. And when Dolohov demanded the prophecy, Harry shouted something intelligible to him. Because Hermione was just lying there and she wasn't moving and he was praying that she wasn't dead, she couldn't be dead because then Harry would have as good as killed her.

But she was and they couldn't do anything and she wasn't breathing and Neville couldn't feel a pulse and Harry was shaking her, crying for her to wake up but she wouldn't.

Harry remembered that she had brought some books on the muggle sciences to school after the Christmas holidays. Written on the shiny pages in black ink were the words, '… after death, the pupil dilates and the cornea fogs up, creating a blackened, smoky-looking eye...' Ron had teased him for looking at the book. He'd said that Hermione was infecting him.

Harry almost couldn't bring himself to look. But, surely enough, Hermione stared out through white fog, unable to see through her glassy, blackened eyes. She was dead. And not even magic could save her.

And he was drowning in the blackness, unable to breathe. Then he awoke with a start, gasping out breaths through the steady flow of tears.

**oOo**

_**POV Change! Presenting...**_**The Doctor**

The Doctor had been hovering around the newly-occupied room for a while now, waiting for his... guest, not companion, to wake up. And when he heard the boy crying softly, silently, trying not to draw attention to himself, the time-lord entered the room.

Though the darkened gloom of the room, the Doctor could make out the boy, sitting up in his bed, crying into his knees. Upon noticing the invader, the raven-haired child tried desperately to stop the tears, wiping the water from his cheeks.

The Doctor sat on the bed beside him, placing a hand on the boy's shoulder. He didn't look up.

"Crying for people you've lost isn't anything to be ashamed of," the Doctor said, his voice low, "rather, if you hadn't cried, I would have been afraid of the darkness taking away your final power."

"Love," the boy said, his voice hoarse, "Dumbl- the headmaster always said it was love."

The Doctor considered this, then shook his head. "Anyone can love," he told the emerald-eyed boy, "but only some people can do something with it, or act on it."

And with that, he left the room, leaving the boy to his thoughts.

**xXx**

_Sorry that Harry seems to be sleeping a lot. But he had to deal with the trauma to his body and mind and this is the way the body copes. By sleeping. But hey; stuff still happened. I don't even know if that sentence is grammatically correct but at least the rest of this is. Hopefully. I have never used a beta and despite the fact that I am one, it isn't the same when it is your story. No, I'm not asking for a beta._

_Also, I know it's very short but I'm juggling two other fics and they're sort of more of a priority. Hey, don't look at me like that! I did them first!_

_Ta-ta (for now),  
LoS _:D


	3. What Can Be Done With Love?

If you haven't read the first chapter, go back. Read it. Do you really think I am JKR?

**xXx**

**(Still) Day Three.**

_What can I do with love?_ Harry sat in bed, pondering the Doctor's words. Anyone could love, the Doctor had said. Well, that was true, except for Voldemort. But, didn't he love something? Dumbledore said that he was incapable of it, but Tom Riddle had loved magic, hadn't he? Loved that he could do anything he wanted with it, loved that he could cause pain with it.

Acting on love was easy to figure out, he thought. Acting on love was kissing, or marrying someone. That wasn't hard to analyse; it practically was the answer.

But what could you do with love? It wasn't an object, nor a possession, so what could you do with it? There was only one thing for it, Harry decided. Ask the Doctor.

He hastily got dressed in the clothes in the wardrobe (how they were in his size, he had no idea), put on his glasses and padded over to the door, looking out cautiously. It was a corridor he had never seen before, an almost glowing grey-blue. He followed the path down, and found himself in...

… the kitchen. And seated at the bench was the Doctor, dressed in the clothes he always seemed to wear. But his bow-tie was blue this morning.

"Morning!" the alien called cheerfully, waving a fish-stick in the air. He'd dipped it in a big bowl of... was that custard?

Harry frowned. It couldn't be morning- he'd just slept for about eight hours and he only went to sleep at midnight.

"Is it?" he asked, and the Doctor shrugged.

"Who knows? We're in the time vortex," he explained. Harry swallowed, and nodded.

"So... those stories... they were true, then," Harry finished lamely. The Doctor nodded. Harry accepted this – it's not as if his were any less magical.

"Of course they were- yours were, weren't they?" the Doctor pointed out and Harry shrugged.

He walked over to the table, and on it appeared the same breakfast he had eaten at Hogwarts: scrambled egg on toast with a side of bacon and an orange juice. Pumpkin juice had always felt more like a dinner or lunch drink to Harry and as such he only drank it at lunch or dinner, aside from the rare occasion where he forgot to actually _ask_ for it. The Doctor went back to eating his fish-stick-custard.

Breakfast passed in relative silence, only broken by the crunch of fish sticks and the placing of a cup back on the table. Harry found that he preferred the lack of speech. Hogwarts had always seemed too noisy for him, especially at mealtimes. When excessively loud speech had always meant that Harry was about to be beaten by his drunk uncle, one began to dislike noise.

Not to mention that when... Sirius (he choked on his orange juice at the memory of his godfather laughing and happy, eliciting a worried glance from the Doctor)... died (the word was forced out, even in his thoughts) his scream had seemed silent when compared to the shouting of spells and the cries of physical pain.

Once Harry had finished his breakfast, his plate vanished and he jumped in surprise. A cautious hum resounded in his mind, blowing away the bad memories and filling his head with images of the planet the Doctor had told him about in his stories.

"Do you have any more?" Harry asked suddenly, not being specific whatsoever. But the Doctor seemed to understand his meaning.

"Follow me," he said with a smile, and the bow-tie-wearing man walked out of the kitchen, Harry following.

**oOo**

**xXx**

**oOo**

The Doctor lead Harry down several corridors, enough to; a, make Harry wonder how large the blue box actually was and; b, no sure if he would ever get back. But when he steeped through the heavy oak doors, all thoughts of return escaped his mind.

It was a library. And not just a library; it could have competed with the library in Hogwarts. The high, arching ceiling was covered in stars and the walls were covered in books. There were another two rows on either side before the soft carpet changed to smooth tiles that made way to a... swimming pool? Harry raised an eyebrow, something he had perfected the holidays before fifth year, at the Doctor, who looked defensive.

"I like the pool!" he said, folding his arms.

Harry shrugged and went back to his examination. Beyond the pool were more rows of shelving and through the wood, Harry could make out a golden glow. He walked around the pool, moving almost silently through the books. The room had a strange aura to it, almost as if there must only be silence in the library. But it wasn't forbidding, like Madam Pince – the silence was comforting and spoke of friends long gone but forever preserved in ink between pages.

Through the doors, past the pool and beyond the bookshelves was a fireplace, the flames burning merrily and filling the room with light. Harry watched in wonder as the sparks flew out of the tongues of flame licking at the logs and into the air, where they swirled into small swirls and constellations before vanishing.

Ginning smugly at Harry's fascination, the Doctor moved forward and seated himself in one of the armchairs in front of the fire, though he didn't seem to cease moving. Harry tore his gaze from the flames and sat in the other, leaning forward to rest his elbows against his knees.

"At one moment in time," the Doctor began, looking into the fire, "there was a red-head who was the most important person in the universe. She'd already achieved so much – she'd saved alien babies," Harry gave a grin at this explanation, "solved a crime with Agatha Christie, given her life to save the universe, rescued a family from the fires of Pompeii, gave hope to a girl about to die and saved me three times."

He took a shaky breath before continuing.

"She stood by me as the world was taken away and never moved once. And when someone told the truth about me, the terrible, horrible truth that I hate facing, she gave her life to kill him. Well, almost her life. She gave her memories, her self, her entire being. Donna doesn't know me now," the Doctor stated simply, using the red-head's name at last, "I could probably knock up on the Noble residence and call myself a salesperson and she would never know different. But she's happy, I suppose, and that's something."

They sat in silence for quite a time. Harry knew that the Doctor had spoken as elaborately as he could stand without falling. Some wounds need more than time alone to heal. Some wounds were caused by time herself.

**xXx**

_I am so, so sorry for the large gaps between updates and I will fix this... just as soon as I do my homework for the week (impossible. I keep getting homework)._

_Ta-ta (for now),  
LoS _:D


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